


Thanks for All the Fish

by Adaris



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: A friend and I were discussing how every Stucky AU worth writing has been made, Bucky is certainly NOT a mermaid what would make you think that, Crack Treated Somewhat Seriously, Fisheries Jargon, Fisherman!Bucky, Gratuitous PG Stripping, I'm so sorry, M/M, Older Peggy aggressively mothering Steve from her porch, One-Shot, Smoked salmon maker!Steve, hard of hearing clint, preserum steve, then this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 11:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20656508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adaris/pseuds/Adaris
Summary: Steve is just an artisanal smoked salmon maker trying to score some sustainably caught fish, and Sam thinks he's found the perfect source!





	Thanks for All the Fish

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse (staring at the friend with and for whom I created this abomination)

"Steve, I promise you’ll like this guy’s salmon. I’ve been pretty thorough—"

"For the last time, Sam, I’m not using Atlantic salmon! I know there aren’t any sustainable salmon fisheries in FAO 27, especially not landed in the United States!"

Sam waved away Steve’s rant before it could really gain traction. "You’ve only told me a thousand times. And I bet I've told _you_ before that it's weird to know the UN designation for every area of the Atlantic."

"Well, I have to be sure that I’m using the best materials to make my smoked salmon," Steve said, getting fired up anyway. "I can't just grab any old fish from the sea and slap it on an open flame!"

"Yes, which is why I’m telling you that this guy is worth checking out. He doesn’t have your average fish," Sam tried to explain. "You should meet him. He's down at the harbor right now."

"Well…" Steve checked his watch, which was completely perfunctory—like he had anywhere to be. "Okay, fine. If he has the Sam Wilson guarantee, I'll give him a chance."

Outside, the air was fresh and crisp, stinging Steve's lungs. A fluffy autumn-orange blob loomed in his vision, and he ducked instinctively.

"You forgot a scarf," Sam reminded him, wrapping the orange scarf around Steve's shoulders.

"It's not that cold," Steve muttered, even though he knew Sam was right.

The walk to the harbor was only a few minutes long, but they still liked shaving thirty seconds off by cutting through Peggy Carter’s backyard.

"Morning, Sam, Steve!" she called through her window.

"Morning, Mrs. Carter," they both echoed.

"Sam, does Steve have a scarf on?" Peggy asked suspiciously.

"Yes, ma’am!" Sam answered, waving to her through the screen door.

She smiled and waved back. "Where are you going?"

"The harbor. Sam wants me to meet a guy. But not _meet_ him, just get to know him," Steve backpedaled hastily. "Because he sells salmon. Good salmon."

Peggy gave Steve a knowing look. "I’m sure he does."

"See you later, Mrs. Carter!" he called while Sam snickered. "Cut it out, Sam!"

"Bye, Mrs. Carter! Oh, boy, Stevie, she's got your number," Sam said to Steve, a goofy smile on his face.

Steve huffed. "Just because everyone in town's decided to take care of me, specifically—"

"—'Cause we all know how much trouble you'd get in otherwise, regardless of the scarves—"

"—You really seem to think it's your job to _annoy_ me, specifically."

Sam shrugged, still smiling. "Sounds about right to me."

"It's just salmon!" Steve protested, his words sounding faint and unconvincing even to his own ears. He abandoned the whole enterprise and kept walking towards the harbor without giving Sam any more ammunition.

The ocean came into view then, a glass-flat, deep blue mirror echoing every cloud in the sky. A single motorboat was slicing through the reflection, and it made the clouds in its wake ripple like flags in the breeze. The boats in the harbor were perfectly still, a forest of masts and sails.

Steve immediately wanted to paint the scene, and he tried to remember every element of it for when he was back at his studio. Maybe he should take a picture on his phone? No, but then that would ruin the beauty of the scene. He could remember this, unless something else more memorable showed up. "So, where's this fisherman of yours, Sam?"

"He should be around here somewhere… that’s his ship over there. The shiny one." Sam pointed towards a smallish silver-hulled boat with the name _Winter Soldier_ printed on the side in red. Because the tide was only half in, the roof of the boat came right up to ground level, with the deck a short jump below.

A speck of movement that wasn’t the waves caught Steve’s eye—it looked like seaweed, but then the seaweed turned and Steve realized it was a person with long brown hair. "Sam, there’s someone down there!"

"What? Where?"

"Under the silver ship—" Steve pointed towards the person, who abruptly went underwater. "I think they’re in trouble!" He was already taking off his scarf and trying to hand it to Sam.

"Wait, Steve, no!" Sam shouted, reaching for the back of Steve’s jacket like he knew exactly what was going to happen.

Steve dodged Sam’s hands reflexively and dove into the harbor. Except he hadn’t expected how mind-numbingly cold the water was. Hitting the surface drove all the air from his lungs, and fully clothed and wearing shoes, stupid clodhopper shoes, he sank like an anchor. As Steve was sinking, he caught a glimpse of the dark haired man surfacing with something red in his hands. The man shot Steve a single look of confusion, then annoyance, then resignation, and he let go of his object and grabbed Steve’s arm, dragging him back towards the surface.

"Who the hell are you? What were you thinking?" the man practically scolded as he towed Steve towards a ladder.

Steve managed a weak sputter, tasting salt and seaweed.

The man hoisted Steve over his shoulders like a sack of grain and started climbing. "This one yours, Sam?" he asked as he set Steve down on the dock.

"Yeah, unfortunately. Steve Rogers, meet James Barnes," Sam sighed while Steve shivered on the concrete. "Anyone have a blanket? Towel?"

"Yeah, back on the ship," James offered. "And it’s _Bucky_, Sam, how many times do I gotta tell you?"

"Eeh, one more ought to do it."

Bucky shook his head at Sam. "Why don’t the two of you step on board?"

"R-right," Steve said, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. "S’good."

Bucky led them across the deck and into the lower deck of the ship. "Tasha, can you grab our guest a towel? And some dry clothes?" he called down the hallway.

"Did you find the buoy?" There was the sound of someone rummaging through a cupboard, and a woman appeared in the hall holding an armful of towels and assorted fabric. She was taller than Steve, with glossy auburn curls that came to her shoulders and sharp green eyes—Steve was immediately reminded of a predatory creature. Graceful, but dangerous all the same. "Who’s the drowned rat?" she asked, casting a glance at Steve.

"Right, this is Steve Rogers. And yeah, but it’s still in the water. Traded it for this guy."

Tasha threw the towels to Bucky, and he caught them without really looking. "Right, well, if you can’t accomplish a simple task, I’ll do it myself." She shook her head as she walked away.

"Okay, Steve, the boiler room’s the warmest. Should dry you off fairly quickly." Bucky opened the door to the boiler room, and a wave of heat washed into the corridor, like stepping outside in the summer.

Sam prodded Steve inside, who was starting to feel like a gently steaming ham in all the warmth. Steve peeled off his sodden clothing, drying off with one of Bucky’s towels.

Bucky himself seemed rather unconcerned with being drenched in icy cold water as he toweled off his hair, staying closer to the door where there was still a bit of cool winter air. In a weird way, he looked similar to Tasha, but with blue-grey eyes and brown hair. He also had a scruffy beard, like he hadn’t shaved in a week.

Then Bucky took off his sweater, and Steve was very glad that it was hot in the boiler room, because then no one would be able to tell his blush apart from generally being warm.

"Steve, what were you thinking?" Sam groaned, wringing out Steve’s shirt. "Peggy’s going to actually murder me if you get sick after this. She used to be a spy; she could do it and nobody would ever suspect her."

"I just thought—I thought he might have been drowning. It was instinct." Steve wrapped himself in a towel that covered him from neck to knees like some kind of bath blanket.

"Weird instinct." Bucky self-consciously ducked behind the door while he continued to change. "So… Sam said you were interested in salmon?"

"Um. Yes," said Steve, whose thoughts were rather far removed from fish. "I, uh, heard you sold sustainably harvested salmon. Which I haven't been able to find on this side of the Atlantic." He put on a t-shirt that had been rolled up in the towel, and it hung off his frame like an empty sheet. The trousers had drawstrings, and he was able to pull them closed so they didn't slip right off, and the only downside was that now they looked like a skirt. At least Sam had always told Steve he looked nice in skirts.

"Oh, yeah, that's us." Bucky stepped out from behind the boiler again, his shirt clinging to his still-damp skin. The seawater dripping from his hair left dark marks on the soft grey fabric. "Ready to go back up, or are you still cold?"

"Here, Steve, you can use my jacket. Since yours is still wet." Sam offered Steve his fluffy maroon flannel, the one that had 'Redwing Auto Repair (and also boats)' embroidered on the back. "Kept it warm for you."

Wrapped up in entirely borrowed clothing, Steve now resembled a walking bolt of fabric. "Thanks, Sam. I wouldn't mind going back on the deck before I melt down here."

"Alright, after you, Steve, Sam." Bucky gestured towards the door. "No, wait, do you remember how to get out of here?"

"Yeah, of course," Steve said with confidence, navigating with unerring efficiency back to the deck.

Sam sighed. "That’s towards the hold, Stevie."

"Thanks, Sa—wait, how did you know that?"

"Uh… call it an educated guess?" Sam shuffled up towards the deck, not looking at Steve.

Bucky didn't even look at Sam, instead finding something very interesting to inspect on his shoes.

Steve hunched over in his baggy clothes and trudged back onto the deck.

Once they were back in the chilly winter air, Bucky seemed to relax, slouching just a bit sloppily over the gunwale. His dark brown hair, still damp from the sea, flopped rakishly over his eyes. "So Steve, how about now you’ve finished jumping into the ocean, we talk about some salmon?"

"Okay, yeah," Steve said, his heart thumping in his chest like it had places to be, "But in all fairness, I just want you to know right now that this act—" he gestured vaguely to Bucky’s tight knit sweater and wind-tousled hair and sparkling blue eyes "—ain’t going to work on me. You’re very handsome, but can we get down to business?"

"To defeat the Huns," Sam muttered from behind Steve.

Bucky held his hands up placatingly, straightening up and attempting to look less like a handsome weathered sailor. Great, now he was endearing too. "Sure thing. Sam’s told me that you’re an artisanal smoked salmon maker?"

"Yep. Long story, don't have the time to get into it right now," Steve said with a shrug.

"He also does nice watercolors," Sam added. "Nobody paints a crab like this guy!"

"Regardless of the paintings," Steve continued a bit louder than necessary, "I’m just looking for someone who can supply me with fresh salmon, harvested responsibly and sustainably."

"Oh, yeah, we have that," Tasha said from behind Steve.

"Didja get it?" Bucky asked somewhat cryptically.

"Yep." She held aloft the dripping buoy in one hand. "Got snagged around the front, just like you thought. Towed it for a solid fifty knots, lost the trap, but at least we won't have to paint another buoy."

Bucky squinted at her. "Why did you get to stay dry? I went all the way in."

"Magnets," she said cryptically, hopping onto the deck of the boat.

"That lady always has a solution that involves a large, powerful magnet," Bucky sighed, turning back towards Steve. "Anyway, the usual ex-vessel price for salmon around here will run you about a dollar fifty per pound. Tasha, can you—"

"Do I look like your personal servant?"

"No, but you sure as hell look like my first mate."

"Hm…" She stared up at the crow's nest above her. "I’ll text Clint."

"Yeah, Nat?" a voice shouted back from the crow’s nest after a moment.

Tasha muttered under her breath as she typed, "Get some fish from the hold, I know you’re just playing Breath of the Wild up there."

"Eeh, I was getting bored anyway," Clint sighed. A long second later, a man with spiky blond hair and cheeto dust smeared over his face literally swung onto the deck from a rope. Kind of like a pirate. "Bucko, Nat, Sammy. And handsome stranger," he added with a wink once he spotted Steve. "Be right back, I guess."

"He likes hanging out up there," Bucky explained without really explaining anything. "We call it the hawk’s nest, because his eyes are so sharp. That guy could see a drop of blood in the water from a mile away. Almost as good as a shark."

"Uh. Are they your whole crew? Seems small for a ship this size," Steve tried to say conversationally.

Bucky shrugged, swapping a glance with Tasha. "I mean, Sharon Carter helps us out from time to time. But otherwise, yeah."

Steve admittedly wasn’t sure exactly how many people were employed by a single fishing vessel. Although, this one lacked the usual piles of trawling nets, or gillnets, or purse-seine nets, or… any kind of trap at all. Maybe they were belowdecks? Either way, not many were likely to fit on a ship this size. "Have you owned the place for long? I’ve never seen _Winter Soldier_ in the harbor before."

"We like to travel a lot, haven’t been back here in awhile," Bucky said evasively.

"You ordered fish?" Clint asked at exactly the right moment. "Sorry, couldn’t find any."

"They’re behind your back," Sam pointed out, one eyebrow raised.

"Aw, you got me." Clint held out three large, raw, dead salmon he'd been hiding poorly behind his back. "I’d say visit the hold, but no surprise, it smells like fish down there."

Steve took one of the fish from him, which weighed about five pounds. Five and a half? And now he had no idea what to do with the damn thing. He looked it over, admiring the brightness of the gills under the operculum and the crystal-clear eyes, but he would have to cut it open and cure it to really judge its quality.

Sam took a gander at the fish too, but he wasn’t a cook or a fisherman and came to the conclusion that it was probably a salmon.

"_Salmo salar_, as promised. Sourced from FAO area twenty-seven, but we line-harvest them. Mostly males, since they like to bite the most, and anyway it’s the older females that really control the recruitment rates of salmon populations. So, broadly speaking," Bucky said thoughtfully while Tasha sighed and shot him a single cutting look. "I mean, dialing back on the shop talk, yes ma'am. Steve, you’re free to take a sample if you want. We can pack ‘im away for you."

Steve had to stop himself from smiling. "I, uh, know exactly what you’re talking about, with the BOFFFs, even had a glance at some of the papers. I like learning about the fish I prepare, and I have a lot of time for reading anyway," he admitted. "I’d love to do a test run before I make any promises." He tried to hand the fish back to Bucky.

"Oh, right, um… Clint, mind packing one for the road?" Bucky asked, turning towards Clint specifically.

Clint nodded and took the fish back from Steve. "Right, boss. One salmon on the rocks, coming right up," he said, wandering off with Tasha following behind.

"I gotta keep an eye on him," she explained to Bucky while she went back belowdecks.

"Uh-huh, I’m sure you do." Bucky crossed his arms, and even through the weave of his sweater, Steve could tell how well-toned and strong they were.

"Well, I hope the two of you can work out this fish thing," Sam commented. "What did I tell you, Steve?"

"Seems like you have exactly what I’m looking for from where I’m standing."

Bucky smiled just as a sea breeze swept by to tousle his dark hair.

Dammit.

"Glad you think so. We’re planning on docking at least once every month. Probably."

Sam made an unreadable face.

"Yeah, Sam, I believe we can make it back that often," Bucky teased. "Don’t you believe in me?"

"Eeh, not really." Sam flapped a hand at Bucky’s frown. "Hey, none of that now. I was just teasing."

Steve squashed a wave of jealousy at their familiarity. "Well, I’ll try to stay out of the water until you’re back."

"Yeah, that’s for the best. Can’t have you drowning," Bucky laughed.

Sam nodded much more solemnly. "I want to stay alive. No joke, Peggy will make my body disappear."

A confused look drifted across Bucky's face, and Steve was just about to start explaining Peggy Carter's entire life story starting from her career as a spy when Clint returned.

"Here’s your salmon, mysterious stranger. Come back soon!" he said with a customer service smile, presenting the fish with a flourish.

"Thanks. And it’s Steve. Rogers. I’m Steve Rogers." He clung to the fish like it might save him from the conversation at hand.

Sam and Bucky drifted off to the side, presumably talking about murder.

Clint nodded at Steve. "Yeah, nice to meet you. I guess you’ve caught my name, since everyone's been yelling it back and forth."

Steve shrugged, staring down at the neatly wrapped white package of salmon. "I did, Clint. Hey, good job wrapping this."

"Sorry, didn’t catch that," Clint said apologetically.

"Oh, right." Steve felt like he was dying inside but felt like it would be rude to say it had been nothing, and he tugged at the package’s ends. "The wrapping looks nice."

"Um… you’re going to have to look at me when you talk or I’ll have no clue what you’re saying."

Steve glanced up, and Clint tapped one of his hearing aids to demonstrate. "Oh, shit, I’m sorry. Wasn’t even paying attention. Just wanted to let you know that the fish was wrapped nicely, which seems kind of dumb now."

"Yeah, happens all the time. And thanks, it’s all in the hands." Clint gave Steve a thumbs-up. He did have rather nice hands. "Anyway, I'll see you later. Probably."

"Yes, we’ll see you later. Someone has to make sure you don’t set anything on fire," Sam sighed, from what sounded like past experience.

Bucky drifted back towards the conversation. "I’d be happy to see the two of you before we set sail again," he said graciously.

"Didn’t you just hear? Of course we’ll be back around. See you later, Bucky." Sam waved without looking back as he walked off the boat. 

"Looking forward to working with you," Steve said, tipping the fish in Bucky’s direction like it was a hat.

Bucky smiled. "Same here, Steve."

—

"So, did you like him?"

"He was fine, Sam."

"Just fine?"

"I think we'll make efficient business partners."  
"Steve, just because your favorite Star Trek character is Spock doesn't mean that you have to—"

"What are you trying to get at?" Steve asked as he went suspiciously into their shared house.

"I just want to know if you liked him. As a person."

"Oh. He seemed likeable enough to me."

Sam threw his hands into the air in defeat. "Alright, fine." Whatever he'd wanted, he clearly hadn't gotten it. "I'm going to make some coffee. Want any?"

"Nope."

Sam shuffled off into the kitchen, and Steve beat a hasty retreat to his art studio. It was technically the shed, but he called it the studio anyway.

He sighed as he sat down with his box of pencils and paints, glad to take the weight off his feet. Working from memory, he started to sketch out the harbor from earlier today. His pencil easily traced the edges of the clouds in the sky and in the water's reflection, added a few seagulls in the distance. However—

"Whatcha drawing, Steve?"

Steve stared down at his drawing in horror. "It's not ready right now," he ventured after a moment.

Sam came in holding a fresh thermos of coffee. "Hm, can I see it anyway?"

"Um… no."

"Alright. I'll be down at the garage if you need anything."

"Yep. Thanks, Sam." Steve waited until Sam had left until he looked back down at the drawing.

The ship that appeared in the forefront of the harbor was the _Winter Soldier_, worn and weathered, and leaning on the gunwale was her captain, Bucky Barnes. Steve had drawn Bucky’s dark, wavy hair and handsome jawline, even sketched in the weave of his sweater, in perfect, photographic detail. Bucky gazed off into the middle distance, an unreadable smile on his lips, the sun tracing the edges of his face.

"Oh, shit."

Steve was in it now.

**Author's Note:**

> Science side note: BOFFFFs are also known as big old fat female fecund fish, which create a larger volume of higher quality eggs with a higher chance of survival than younger, slimmer fish. There are a bunch of fishing regulations in place to protect them because they're responsible for creating the most new recruits (to the salmon population, not the salmon army. Science terminology is weird)! Bucky and Steve know waaaaay too much about salmon, and so do I, after this. Anyway, thank you for reading!


End file.
